


The Princess was Dead

by Karis_Artemisia_Judith



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Character Death In Dream, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Not Really Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 06:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2721602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karis_Artemisia_Judith/pseuds/Karis_Artemisia_Judith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his nightmares, Kristoff sees the consequences of a thoughtless wish. <br/>Warning: Character death, implied violence</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Princess was Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Angst prompt: "I'm sick of being useless!"

He saw the horse first, wild eyed and shivering, its reins twisted and tangled in a tree branch. It shied as he approached, snorting.

“Easy,” Kristoff muttered, easing closer and offering a carrot as a peace offering. “What’s an animal like you doing out here in this weather?” He eyed the empty saddle, frowning. “And who did you lose?”

The answer was lying in the snow, a few hundred yards on, a bright spot of vivid summer green in the wasteland of white. She was curled up against the base of a tree, huddled under her thin and useless cloak. Kristoff knelt to brush the snow from her cold face. Easy enough to see what had happened, he thought, touching the cut on her forehead. A fall from the horse, a blow on the head, dizziness. Sitting down for a moment, or maybe falling, and then slipping into sleep. And then the cold at taken her.

He picked her up, flinching at how small and cold her body felt in his arms. That horse…that dress…She looked familiar, like someone he’d seen in passing. Probably in the street that morning—there had been dozens of girls in bright dresses, ready for the coronation. Not all of them had been wearing silk and velvet, though. Someone would be looking for her.  Someone would want to have her body back. He’d take her to the city watch, and let them deal with it.

Kristoff laid her carefully in the back of the sleigh. After a moment he fumbled among his gear, coming up with a sheet.  “Whoever let you go riding in this storm should be hanged,” he said roughly. The blue lips didn’t shape an answer.

He let the cloth drape over her respectfully, covering her face.

* * *

 

It was a big day for ice sales, the biggest since the royal wedding a month ago. He almost wished that it wasn’t. The whole city was strange, shocked and silent, the recent events too terrible to be discussed except in whispers. People needed ice to stock their cold rooms, extra ice to chill the wines that would be raised in silent toast to a fallen monarch, and still more ice to prepare for the coming coronation, but there was not the joyful exuberance that had accompanied the last coronation.

A young queen, killed suddenly in a tragic accident.

A young bride, her sister, going mad with grief, accusing her own husband of terrible crimes. Taking her own life.

Poison, people whispered. Horrible. No one had been watching her, no one had expected it. But there was a beautiful letter, recanting the dreadful things she had said, commending her country into the hands of her husband and her soul to the hands of God. A very beautiful letter. Moving. A copy had been circulated to the people.

At the double funeral Kristoff found himself trapped in the crowd as the grieving widower led the procession through the street, head solemnly bowed, black handkerchief pressed to his heart. The biers behind him were wreathed in flowers. As they passed, the wind caught the edge of the black veil that shrouded the second hearse, lifting it up to reveal the still form beneath it. The sunlight glinted off of the carefully braided red hair, the strange streak of white. She didn’t look mad. She looked young, and alone. A footman hastily caught the fabric, drawing it down to cover her decorously. The procession moved on.

* * *

 

The cloak had blown into a tree, torn purple wool flapping like a banner. The body was close by. Kristoff didn’t consider himself a man with a weak stomach, he knew what he would find as soon as he saw the wolf tracks crossing and recrossing the snow, and yet he still dropped to one knee and vomited when he saw her. She was torn and bloody, savaged by teeth and claws. He only knew that she was a woman by the tattered remains of her dress, by the vivid hair that spread out across the snow.

He turned away, wiping his face. Then, methodically, without looking too closely at what he covered, he began gathering stones. It was hours before the cairn was finished, and his hands were raw, but there would be no more predators tonight. Whoever she had been, whatever idiocy had brought her out here, she could be at peace now.

* * *

 

“Ice,” someone said in a carrying stage whisper, catching Kristoff’s attention. Not that it was unusual for people to talk about ice at the moment, considering that the fjord was still frozen solid. There were garbled rumors that it was somehow because of the new queen, that she had cursed the country and then vanished because of…something. Everyone had a different theory. But the princess had gone to find her and now…now she was ice.

He didn’t believe it until he saw her.

The council, apparently fearing a riot, had agreed to a public viewing, and a line of the curious ran out of the royal chapel and across the bridge to coil around the square. Kristoff wasn’t sure why he was bothering to stand for more than an hour, slowly shuffling forward, but he did it anyway. At the front of the chapel was a coffin, adrift on a sea of flowers—probably every flower in the city that could be coaxed to open, in the hothouses where flowering plants still survived against the endless winter. As he got closer he could hear the gasps and muttered prayers, could see people gape as they looked down.

He stepped forward.

 _Ice_. A girl made of clear blue ice, perfectly formed. Flawless. Small hands clutched together over her chest, and her eyes…her eyes were the worst thing. They were open, and even frozen they were wide and frightened. Kristoff didn’t realize he was reaching out to touch her cheek until a guard struck his hand away.

"Show some respect, man," he growled. "Move along."

Kristoff moved. He walked away from the girl made of ice, shimmering and so strangely beautiful, and so terrible. There was no way to explain that he’d wanted to comfort her. She was beyond comfort, after all.

The princess was dead.

* * *

Bandits, they said. There had been bandits on the mountain, and the princess was dead.

* * *

A crack in the ice, as she’d crossed a frozen lake. The black water had swallowed her up, and the princess was dead.

* * *

A stray crossbow bolt, during the battle to subdue the cursed queen.

The princess was dead.

_The princess_

* * *

 

 _Anna_.

"Anna!"

Kristoff was on his feet before he was fully awake—he had to stop and figure out where he was. The stable. He’d been so mad that he’d stomped off to the stable to talk to Sven, and fallen asleep in the hay. Bits and pieces of the arguments tumbled through his mind, tangling up with the grim sequence of his dreams.

"I just can’t  _do_  this anymore!”

"Do what? Live somewhere with a roof? Sleep in a bed? Take baths? What is  _this_ and why is it so hard?”

"You just—you just  _don’t_   _get it_.”

* * *

 

A cliff edge.

An avalanche.

A dagger in the night.

_The princess was dead._

 

* * *

"Of course I don’t get it! I don’t understand what there is to get! Why aren’t you talking to me instead of trying to put fit all your clothes into one bag? Stop that, you’re creasing them."

“ _That_. That’s what I’m talking about. Why should I care about creases? Why do I have so many shirts that they won’t fit in a bag? Why do I need any of this?”

"Why shouldn’t you have shirts? And if you crease your clothes then you’re just making work for the servants."

“ _Why_ do I suddenly have  _servants_? I don’t  _want_  them!”

* * *

 

 

Ice in her heart.

The cold.

The mountain.

_The princess was dead._

 

* * *

 

"Do you want to iron your own shirts? Is that what this is about?"

"No! and yes. I don’t know. I just want to not need ironed shirts."

"Kristoff, stop!"

"Why am I here?"

"What?"

"Why am I here? What is the point? I’m sick of being  _useless_.”

* * *

 

Savage animals.

Savage men.

Savage animals disguised as men.

The princess was dead.

_The princess was dead._

* * *

He was running, sprinting across the courtyard, the angry words pounding against his memory.

* * *

“ _Why am I here_?”

"Isn’t it simple?"

"No, it’s  _not_ , Anna.” His own voice, bitter and rough, stinging. The sound of it had driven her back a step. Distance. He’d wanted that distance. “It’s not simple. My life  _used_  to be simple. It used to make  _sense_. Now everything is so…so  _complicated_. You make  _everything_  complicated.”

* * *

 

A guard put out his hand as Kristoff reached the castle door. Wild-eyed men with straw in their hair weren’t usually allowed in the castle in the middle of the night. “Hold, there, what—”

"I need to see Princess Anna. I have to tell her something."

"Here, now, You can’t just—"

Kristoff punched him in the face. There wasn’t  _time_.

_The princess was dead._

_Anna_.

There were shouts behind him as he ran up the stairs, the clatter of boots, but neither drowned out his memories.

 

* * *

“ _I_  make everything complicated? I don’t even know what you’re talking about!”

"And that’s the problem! You don’t even see what you’ve done! I just want to go back to my life before, when I could be on my own without all this…this  _stuff_. Sometimes I wish I’d never met you.”

* * *

 

Kristoff flung open the door. The figure on the bed was bathed in the pale glow of moonlight, one arm tucked behind her head, the other curled up against her chest. And she was so  _still_. He’d never seen her be so still. Heart in his throat he stumbled to her side, reaching out, half expecting her skin to be cold—but she was warm, warm and alive and waking up with a snort as his trembling hands shook her.

"Wha-what?" She yawned, rubbing at her face. "What is it?" Anna squinted at him. "Kristoff? What are you—oof!" She grunted as his arms pulled her tight against his chest, squeezing her close. Then just as quickly he leaned back so that he could run his hands over her hair, her cheeks, her shoulders.

"You’re okay," he mumbled, hugging her to him again. "You’re alive."

"Of course I’m alive," she muttered, struggling against his grip so that she could stare up at him. "Kristoff, what—"

"I didn’t mean it," he said desperately.

"What?"

"When I said I wish I’d never met you. I didn’t mean it. I would never mean it. I—"

They both flinched back as bright lantern light suddenly filled the room, glaring in their eyes and shining off of the drawn swords of half a dozen guardsmen. Anna stared, open mouthed, then hastily pulled her blanket up to her chest.

"What on earth is going on?"

Kristoff winced. “I, uh, I think that they’re here to arrest me.” A guardsmen with a handkerchief pressed to his nose appeared at the back of the group to glare at Kristoff over their shoulders. “I was in a hurry,” he added lamely.

"Would someone like to explain to me what is going on here?"

The queen’s presence in the doorway made everyone stiffen. The guardsmen looked at each other. Anna looked at Kristoff. He stood up hastily, rubbing anxiously at the back of his head.

"I, uh—I needed to tell Ann—Princess Anna, I mean, I—it was important."

The queen stared around the room. “Captain?”

"Yes, your majesty."

"What is wrong with that man’s face?"

"He was struck, your majesty. By Master Bjorgman, he says."

The queen raised an eyebrow at Kristoff. He nodded, and just barely stopped himself from shuffling his feet.

"I see. I think you should take him to the infirmary, captain. You may bring him to my study tomorrow to discuss this…incident. Master Bjorgman, you will attend upon me at the same time."

Kristoff nodded jerkily. The captain saluted. “Your majesty.”

"You may all go," Elsa said, stepping to one side of the door. Kristoff realized for the first time that she was wearing a dressing gown, and not the formal sweep of court dress. When the last of the guards was out of the way, the queen looked from him to her sister. "You may have five minutes," she said finally. The door closed behind her. In the darkness, a gaping Kristoff felt Anna’s hand grasp his, tugging him down to sit beside her.

"Kristoff, what happened?"

"I just…I was dreaming and I—you—" Helplessly he took her hand and pressed it to his cheek. "I didn’t mean it," he whispered.

"I know, you big idiot," Anna said. Her thumb stroked his skin lightly. "I know you didn’t mean it." She shrugged. "People say things when they’re angry that they don’t mean."

"I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Anna. I—"

"The five minutes are almost up," she said. She tugged on his creased shirt, pulling him down until he kissed her. "I love you," she murmured. "Simple, see?"

"I love you too." He kissed her again, lingering as long as he could before an authoritative knock at the door interrupted.

Kristoff managed to stumble back to his own room, his lips still warm with the taste of Anna.

 _His princess was alive_. 


End file.
